April 30,
1982 11:00 p.m.
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Twentynine
maybe?poetry?yet?
There was a time
Put the hands on the face
tired
All the voices became clear
The "party" appears.
Everyone is an individual
Fueled on liquor and ambition
Relating to everyone else
Like they should
Except me
You sit, unmoving for what should
be hours-
Interminable, yet somehow friendly
Everyone is on an even footing here
Where-ever the hell we are
Darkness becomes a friend
And they talk
I recognize them
Freinds
People
Lovers
I push the hands harder against
the head in an effort to push
life's inadequecies from my existence.
Then alone
Here with everyone
yet incredibly alone
Am I liking it
?
You all belong-
and I wonder
what it would be
like if someone
or anyone I like
would break this
haze and
remember me
But they don't
for now-
and when they do
I just
don't care
Why I Pass Out.
Michael F. Nyiri 4-30-82
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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